


Hypermnesia

by superagentwolf



Series: Paresthesia [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Memory Loss, Multi, Pack in College
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hypermnesia: Noun; unusual power or enhancement of memory, typically under abnormal conditions such as trauma, hypnosis, or narcosis.</p><p>-</p><p>Derek picks up the wrong luggage at the airport while returning home. It's been years since he's been in Beacon Hills and he returns to find Scott's Pack different than when he left. While Derek tries to settle in again, the Hale and McCall Packs deal with an impending Alpha attack and the reconfiguration of the Pack to welcome back an old member with new powers. In the middle of everything, Derek tries to figure out just what his recurring dream means and why he's the only one who doesn't seem to remember the Pack's new Spark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Context: Peter was stopped before he could kill Laura. He changed Scott in the process of therapy and Derek changed the other members of Scott's Pack. The Hales spent most of their time taking care of Peter while Scott and his friends dealt with their new powers and changes. After a few years, the Hales found Cora in Mexico and brought her back. Derek left while Scott and his friends stayed to finish high school. The Pack went their separate ways after graduation, but they return to Beacon Hills and meet as often as possible.

"What the _fuck_ ," Derek says out loud.  

His suitcase was not his suitcase. 

Mentally, he walked through every moment since he'd stepped off the plane. _I went to pick up my luggage and this one was the right one...I thought._ It looked almost exactly the same as his. It was dark, leather, worn. The handle was scratched.  

Really, that's what bothers him the most. His suitcase had been his father's. For someone else to have such a similar one... 

"What the _fuck_ ," he repeats.

Because really, it wasn't the fact that this suitcase wasn't his. It was more the fact that the suitcase was filled with what looked like bones and bottles and books covered in unintelligible runes. 

"Der.....ek," Cora says from the doorway, her brother's name falling from her lips like a stone as she sees the suitcase. "What the _fuck_." 

"I know," Derek says, a part of him withering inside. To think he'd have to go back and wait at the airport for luggage that would probably never be returned. 

"What _is_ -," 

"I don't know," Derek cuts her off helplessly, a hand raising to run frustratedly through his hair.  

"Is this person a _serial killer_ , or-?" 

Derek exhales heavily through his nose, sitting on the bed so he can rub his face with tired hands. This was _not_ how he wanted to spend his first days back home. 

"You two ready for dinner?" Laura's voice floats towards the two as she walks down the hall, entering the bedroom to see Derek with his head in his hands and Cora standing over the suitcase as if she expects something to jump out and eat her. 

"Look at this shit," Cora replies, tilting her chin to the contents. 

"Hm. You picked up some witching supplies, Derek?"  

"I what?" 

"Witch stuff. Can you actually use it?" Laura adds, raising an eyebrow. 

"You mean this is stuff witches use," Derek says dumbly, still wrestling with the concept. 

"Witch. Stuff." 

Laura gazes at her brother as if she is wondering whether or not he has a concussion. 

"He picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport like the dumbass he is," Cora explains, watching the offending object with increased caution. 

"You should take it to Deaton. Immediately," Laura says, her tone changing. "This could be dangerous. Someone could have even purposely switched it." 

"Yeah," Derek says faintly, not entirely paying attention. He still can't get over the fact that he has a witch's suitcase. 

 

* * *

 

 

"This is definitely dangerous," Deaton says, crossing his arms.  

_This day just keeps getting better,_ Derek thinks to himself, sighing as his stomach growls. He still hasn't eaten dinner. 

"So should I look for mine? Go back and see if they're looking for theirs, too?" 

"I'm not sure," Deaton replies mildly, poking the contents with a long scalpel. "We wouldn't want you confronting a powerful witch alone." 

"I'll take Laura or something," Derek sighs, vaguely annoyed. He is not in the mood to go through the circus that was an airport again. 

"Well, if you do go, I'd suggest waiting until I can identify the contents better first. A friend flew in today, he should be able to assist. We may have it done by tomorrow." 

"Sounds good. I'll be back at seven." 

 

* * *

 

"Do you even have any underwear?" Cora asks him as he's reheating dinner.  

He's a bit aggravated from hunger and the fact that he has to reheat his lasagna. It isn't great to begin with- it's Laura's cooking- but reheating it makes it mushy and gross. 

"I have my carry-on. It only has a few things in it, though. I'll either have to buy stuff or stay in pajamas until I figure this out." 

"Let's get you some clothes," Cora says casually but Derek can tell from the glint in her eyes that she just wants to go shopping. 

Because he's a good older brother, he agrees. 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow Laura manages to tag along under the excuse that Cora technically only has a Learner's Permit. Not that she- or the family- have cared before. 

"Der, you should try this on," Laura says with an air of finality. Everything she says is more of an edict than a suggestion, but not in a rude way. It's a 'Laura will get what Laura wants' way. 

Derek lets her hang the shirt on his burdened arm where the girls have decided to stack jeans and shirts. Cora ran off at some point, presumably to shop, but when she came back it was with a bag. 

"Bitch. You don't even have to try stuff on," Laura tells her and Cora snorts, flipping her hair.  

There's a fondness between his sisters, some sort of magical understanding that Derek is only coincidentally a part of. He understands that shopping in under thirty minutes is an accomplishment. Cora does it well. 

"To the dressing room," Laura directs him and Cora follows closely, eying men's shoes as they go. She has a firm belief that Derek's worn boots are ugly. 

On their way, Derek runs into Scott. 

"Hey!" Scott exclaims, his million-watt smile fairly bowling the Hales over. Derek had forgotten it. 

"Hey. You on break?" He asks, remembering that Scott is in college now. It seems like it's been years. 

"Yup. How was your trip?" 

"Busy," Derek begins, smiling fondly at the younger man that was like a brother to him. 

"He lost his luggage," Cora interrupts, smirking. "That's why we're here," 

"Oh-," Scott begins and Derek can see something in his eyes that says he's been reminded of something but it doesn't matter because Laura sees Kira and she practically screams in delight. 

The girls have an excited reunion for a few minutes, conferring over their choices for Derek. Kira and Scott leave them with smiles, waving as they go. Derek smiles. He's glad they're happy. 

"I forgot to ask what they were here for," Derek realizes belatedly, blinking after them as they go. 

It doesn't matter, though, because he's about to enter the dressing room when a young man stumbles out of one of the stalls. 

He's tall and pale, dark hair sticking in fourteen different directions. His golden eyes are bright as he looks around, cheeks flushed and lips parted as he pants lightly with effort. 

Derek feels the metaphorical arrow skewer his heart. 

" _Sco_ tt," the stranger manages, hanging onto the edges of the doorway. His shirt is bunched around his neck and Derek notices he's thin but not without muscles. The firm curves of his arms make Derek momentarily forget not to stare. 

"Uh-," Derek blurts smartly. 

"W-oooooh," the stranger's eyes widen- which seems impossible- and his cheeks grow even redder. "I-um-," 

"Hel _lo_ , cutie," Laura says from behind Derek and he can _hear_ the smirk in her voice.  

The guy laughs nervously, licking his lips, and Derek sees a glint of silver. _Jesus. Is that a tongue piercing?_  

"Sorry," the stranger says, still laughing awkwardly and when he turns Derek has to stop the rumble in his chest. 

There's a maze of tattoos, swirls and symbols dancing across his back. There's a wolf in the middle. 

Cora whistles lowly and Laura snorts softly, jabbing Derek with her elbow. 

"Come on, loverboy." 

Derek has to clench his teeth when he pulls the first pair of jeans on. 

 

* * *

 

Peter looks tired. Tired, but happy.  

Derek is glad. It's not every day that his uncle with murderous and psychopathic tendencies finds inner peace. 

"I hear you lost your luggage," Peter says cheerfully, pelting Derek with a hot popcorn kernel. 

"Not lost, exactly," Derek replies mildly. Peter's been monumentally more stable since therapy. Derek's just glad Peter didn't kill the therapist after the first session. 

"Well, at least the girls went shopping with you," Peter says snidely, unplugging the popcorn machine as the last few miniature gunshots fill the kitchen. 

Derek huffs, about to respond, when he sees a funny doodle on Peter's arm. It's done in black pen ink, faded in spots where he's probably rubbed while washing his hands. The twined coils and loops look familiar. Peter notices Derek's look. 

"Ah, yes. My friend. Little Red thought it would be funny to draw on me while waiting for his session. He thought I was asleep," Peter says but rather than sounding murderous he sounds amused.  

He doesn't even sound like a wolf or a predator- he just sounds like he really, truly, thinks his friend did something funny. 

"Huh. Interesting nickname. Is it a reference?" Derek asks, knowing his uncle's proclivity for the macabre. 

"Oh, yes. But not in the way you think." 

Peter's smile is all teeth and Derek doesn't respond. Better not to poke the beast. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Derek. Would you mind coming in the morning? Something came up," Deaton says and Derek can hear thinly veiled amusement in the man's voice.  

Somewhere in the background another voice speaks. 

"So when should I drop by?" 

"Eight in the morning would be good," Deaton says mildly and Derek hangs up to flop an arm over his tired head. 

 

* * *

 

_"I want to run away!"_  

The child's voice echoes in Derek's head as he jolts awake. The dream falls apart, confused, as he looks at the clock by his bed. 

Derek is grumpy. He hates early mornings, but he gets up anyways. It's a matter of personal integrity that he always goes to great lengths to never be a shark to others. 

This morning, he grudgingly gets up an hour early to get his run in before meeting Deaton.  

When he shifts, he feels comfortable. His wolf is a second skin, the form easily fitting him. It's a fundamental part of his _self_. When he runs through the woods, he can feel the wind ruffling his fur, the pads of his feet finding familiar terrain. 

He takes his time running, returning only when he knows he'll be late if he doesn't.  

"De _rek_!" Cora screams at him through the bathroom door and he hurries to leave, avoiding her fast slap as he runs to his room. 

Laura is already in the kitchen, brown hair mussed half up one side of her head. She raises her eyebrows at him sleepily as he accepts a breakfast taco on his way out. 

"Be careful," she belatedly calls after him. He acknowledges her with a muffled acknowledgement through a mouthful of egg and bacon. 

 

* * *

 

The first thing Derek notices is the two cars in the parking lot. One is Scott's. The other is a vaguely familiar blue Jeep that tugs at the back of his memory. 

Derek enters carefully, the buzz of nearby ash and wolfsbane raising static against his skin. He always feels vaguely off-kilter in Deaton's clinic.  

"Come in," Deaton calls from the back and Derek walks in to see him gazing contemplatively at the open suitcase. He seems as if he's trying to recall something. 

"So you said you had a partner?" Derek asks gruffly, glancing around the room.  

"He's helping Scott for a moment," Deaton replies, smiling pacifically.  

As they wait, Derek hears a clatter down the hallways as a familiar voice floats through. 

"I can't be _lieve-,_ " Scott is saying and then another voice cuts him off. 

"Dude, I don't care _what_ you believe, he was-," 

When the two enter the room, the stranger stops talking. 

_The_ stranger. 

His mouth remains damnably open, hanging in shocked arrested momentum. Derek can see the silver ball in his tongue.  

He – the stranger – looks oddly hopeful. As if he's waiting for something. 

Deaton looks between the two and Derek _knows_ the man is exuding waves of amusement. Deaton and amusement seem to go hand in hand. 

"You're-," 

"Stiles," Deaton interrupts, a faint smile crossing over his features. "This is Derek. He needs our help." 

_What kind of name is that,_ Derek wonders but he forgets everything momentarily as Stiles walks over to them, glances at the suitcase and does a double-take. 

"My suitcase!" He yells, gold eyes wide.  

Stiles runs over, closes and opens the lid as if checking to make sure it's his, and sticks his hands right into the mess inside. Derek feels himself tense, preparing for something to happen, but Stiles moves things around without any hesitation. 

"This is _yours_?" Derek asks dumbly, still shell-shocked.  

Deaton looks damnably entertained by the whole scenario. Scott just looks confused. 

"Oh my god, _yes_! I thought I was never gonna see my stuff again!" 

Scott snorts, finally losing his lost expression as he realizes something. 

"That's what we were doing yesterday, you know. Buying some stuff at the mall for Stiles. Kira made him go try clothes on but we really went to look at the incense shop." 

Derek shakes his head, still disbelieving. 

"So I guess you'll want your underwear back, then," Stiles says, grinning, and the metal in his mouth glints between his teeth. 

 

* * *

 

Derek goes back home in a state of shock and explains everything to his sisters, who are all too pleased and excited that 'tattooed cutie' is the one (literally) with Derek's underwear.  

"So are you two gonna meet up?" Cora asks, reclining on the sofa with a smoothie. It's getting warmer for the summer and she's taken to lounging around in shorts and loose t-shirts. 

"He said he has an appointment, so we'll meet downtown after." 

"Uh-oh. Didn't say what kind of appointment?" Laura asks. 

"No-," 

"Careful, he might be crazy," Cora sings, pleased when Derek shoots her an irritated look. 

"Really, Der. If it's not the dentist, it's either the shrink or the doctor," Laura adds, tipping the rim of her glass towards him. He sees a spot of lemonade drip and land on her jeans and thinks, _good._  

"Whatever," Derek says and before anyone can get a word in Peter emerges from his room, impeccably dressed for someone who's slept in so late. 

Weirdly, though, Peter is wearing a graphic t-shirt. It's white, with a black person silhouette like the ones posted on bathrooms. The words read _Beware of Human._ Derek has no idea, and he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know. 

"You're driving me," he announces to Derek, who sends a pleading look to his sisters. 

They both raise their eyebrows and look away. 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter has to be dropped off at his psychiatrist's office. Derek spends the 5-minute journey pleasantly surprised by his Uncle's calm attitude.  

Really, it's nice to see Peter isn't attempting to rip people's throats out anymore.  

"You'll have to get down with me. Someone has to accompany me when I get the prescription." 

"Do they know those don't really work?" 

"Appearances, Derek," Peter chides, smirking. 

When Derek gets down, he has to wait at the desk for a worker to print the paperwork. Meanwhile, Peter goes into a glass room with children's toys in it.  

Derek freezes when he hears a familiar laugh and turns to see Stiles in the room. 

_Stiles_. 

Stiles, who had apparently been playing with a beaded maze toy before Peter had entered _to hug him._  

"Hey, Creeper Wolf," Stiles says delightedly and Derek can't help the iota of jealousy he feels when Stiles' face lights up.  

"Little Red, where's your jacket?" Peter asks, pouting as he plucks at Stiles' black tank top. There's something in white on the front Derek can't decipher. 

"It's getting warmer, why the fuck would I wear a jacket?" Stiles laughs, whirling a blue wooden bead. The sound against the painted metal bars reaches Derek's sensitive ears. 

"Hm. We'll have to find you some red things, then," Peter replies mildly, but something dangerous lurks in his voice. 

Something Derek hasn't heard since Peter woke up one day and tried to kill Laura. 

"We will," Stiles agrees and something wicked in his voice makes Derek shiver. 

He's not sure what it means that he thinks the change is kind of hot. 

He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because Peter leans his forehead against Stiles' and it seems like a familiar move, something practiced- but it's also _intimate_ , as if they share some kind of secret that goes to the bones.  

A part of Derek wishes he knew the secret. Another part recognizes that he probably shouldn't. 

"Derek?" 

It's Stiles. 

"Hi," Derek says lamely and he can see Peter grinning, all teeth, next to the young man. 

_He totally planned this._  

"What- I mean, um-," 

"I didn't realize you knew my uncle," Derek supplies, aware that they're treading on dangerous ground. 

"Oh, yeah. Creeper Wolf, my problematic fave," Stiles manages and it sounds like something he's said before because Peter laughs silkily. 

"I'm going in. Don't have too much fun, Red." 

Peter winks and Stiles blushes brilliantly, giving him the finger. Derek laughs. 

"I'm pretty sure he planned this," Derek admits, giving Stiles some ground. He understands power plays, knows how vulnerable the young man probably feels. 

"Oh, yeah. For sure," Stiles says automatically, snorting. 

He looks at Derek then, challenging, and Derek realizes he _isn't_ vulnerable. He's anything but. He looks like he's ready for an inevitable reaction, ready to snort and raise an eyebrow and walk away. Forever. 

It's confidence that Derek sees in Stiles. It's not blind confidence, not bravado or self-importance- it's the confidence of a veteran, the confidence of one who's been through the grinder and come out fighting. 

It's _very_ attractive. 

"So I'm assuming his nickname is purposeful," Derek says and he gauges Stiles for a reaction. 

"It is. He's a creeper. And a wolf," Stiles says, grinning. 

Derek feels a weight rise from his shoulders. He'd guessed, after the suitcase, that Stiles was in the know. It helps to have confirmation. 

"Well, I'm glad we got our luggage sorted out. Although it's weird, that suitcase was my father's- it's pretty unique." 

Stiles' smile freezes on his face for a moment and Derek sees his eyes go oddly flat and blank. It's the look of someone hiding something, he thinks, and it would have been convincing to anyone but a werewolf like himself. He can hear Stiles' heart trip for a millisecond. 

"Oh, yeah. I'm glad you picked mine up, though. Not the best thing to lose, really, what with all the bones and stuff." 

Stiles laughs and Derek fights the smile overtaking his face. When he glances down, he reads Stiles' t-shirt. It has a suspiciously wolf-like silhouette in the center and the words on top and bottom read _Beware of Dog_. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Little Red," Peter says, laughing, and Derek can't find it in himself to be jealous of his uncle. 

For some reason, Stiles brings out the best in Peter. Derek thinks they probably know each other's worst, too, but that's something he isn't thinking about. For now. 

"I couldn't help it! He was totally in my face," Stiles pouts, hoisting Derek's luggage from his trunk.  

Derek's in the house, leaning against the door, smiling through the wire. Peter had been out already, running his after-session tension off. Stiles had gone home to get Derek's suitcase. They're both still wearing their dumb matching shirts and in no way does it make Derek's wolf grumble happily. It feels like Peter's way of accepting Stiles as Pack. 

"Hey. I brought your underwear," Stiles says cheekily as he gets to the door. 

Laura guffaws behind Derek. He feels aggravation lift his eyebrow ever so slightly. 

"Cutie!" Laura exclaims, making her way to Stiles. She gives him a hug and Derek is momentarily confused. "You know, I almost didn't recognize you the other day. It's been so long!" 

Stiles actually blushes and Derek looks between the two, feeling very unsurprised. It seems like _everyone_ knows Stiles. Laura catches his eye and smirks. 

"I can't believe you don't remember your-," 

"Hey!" Stiles yells, cutting Laura off. He's oddly redder as he overenthusiastically high-fives Cora. "How's my favorite...punching....angry smol person?" 

The question falls flat for a second before Cora, unimpressed, rolls her eyes and punches Stiles in the side. 

"'Conveniently compact'," Cora corrects him, lazily striding into the kitchen. Stiles hisses through his teeth, rubbing his side. 

"Right. Sorry." 

Derek decides pursuing Laura's remark is futile and he takes the suitcase from Stiles, ducking his head as he makes room for him to enter. When Peter gets through the door he raises an eyebrow at Derek, smirking. 

"So how was your trip?" Cora asks as she pours some lemonade. Derek is half-surprised when she passes it to Stiles. Cora values her food. "Scott said you were in Ireland." 

" _Oh_ my God," Stiles breathes and Derek is momentarily floored by the sudden light illuminating Stiles' eyes from within. It turns his eyes into gold lanterns. 

"I take it you had fun," Laura laughs and Derek belatedly realizes his sisters are putting snacks on the table in the living room. 

_They all planned this_ , Derek thinks, and he resolves to chew them out after Stiles leaves. 

"Totally! Green fields, Celtic burial grounds, _the_ best faerie bells cast in iron- and of course Guinness," Stiles adds, winking. 

"Sounds like you learned a lot," Peter says smoothly, maneuvering to sit by Stiles as everyone takes their seats. "I take it your suitcase was stocked with goodies you picked up?" 

"You bet. I even got some nifty bottles from a Druidic group near Cork," Stiles says through a mouthful of pizza roll.  

Derek notices Peter absentmindedly wipe a spot off Stiles' jeans. He tries not to image doing the same thing. 

"So are you stocking up for something special? Or just preparing?" Peter asks and even though it's a casual question Derek can see the tense shift of his uncle's shoulders.  

He wonders if it has anything to do with the secret Peter and Stiles share. 

"Oh, just stocking up," Stiles says lightly but Derek can see the change when understanding enters Peter's gaze. Even Laura and Cora glance at each other, an undercurrent of worry flowing between them. 

"Okay, what happened?" Derek finally asks, sighing. "You all obviously know something I don't." 

His family look at each other like none of them want to be the one to talk. 

"We're not sure," Stiles begins, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he should be the one to speak. 

Peter leans closer to Stiles, a subtle, instinctual movement designed to support a Pack member. 

"When you left after Scott formed his Pack, we got a warning," Laura begins and her tone is stony and hostile as if she's remembering the events. 

"Yeah, you told me there were scouts? Some Omegas or something?" 

It had been four years ago, Derek remembered, that it had happened. Scott and his Pack had been two years from graduation. Laura had called Derek and mentioned offhandedly that Omegas had been showing up every few months, terrified and desperate. 

"We didn't know for a while, but they were sent. They were testing us," Cora adds, spitting out the word 'testing' as if it were a sorry excuse. 

"Who was testing us?" Derek bites out, feeling a wave of anger bubbling in his chest. 

"An Alpha pack."


	2. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alpha threat never went away. Derek realizes this a little too late but thankfully he isn't the only one watching out for the Pack. The Hales and Scott's Pack meet up and Derek starts to realize that maybe his attraction to Stiles isn't just a small crush.

It's late at night when Derek shifts in bed, tired but unable to sleep. His mind is racing. 

Apparently, the last year has been busy. While Scott's pack- reduced in size by college- has been barely keeping their heads above water with random mercenaries and Omegas, Stiles went abroad to do research and preparation. Meanwhile, Laura and Cora were working in tandem with Deaton to find the Alpha pack they were dealing with. 

Where Stiles fits in, Derek isn't quite sure. 

Stiles is obviously Scott's friend. From what Derek can tell, though, he isn't any type of creature. From what he's heard, Stiles seems like Deaton's trainee- magic, cures, and poison seem to be just part of Stiles' repertoire.  

Whatever the case, Derek can't help but wonder just how much the thin frame and gold eyes hide. 

He finds himself thinking too much about Stiles so he gets out of bed, sighing and resigned, to run. He doesn't feel the itch under his skin so he doesn't shift, instead lacing on his shoes before taking off into the woods. 

He doesn't even get five minutes in before he smells something, whirls, and meets the starburst of pain that's wolfsbane. 

He never really had a chance. 

 

* * *

 

Across town, Stiles jolts awake. He gasps, sweating, eyes wild as he stumbles out of bed. His fingers slip beneath his pillow, quickly pulling on a silver chain. The bluish-green kyanite at the end glints as he holds it over his hand, slowing his breathing. 

_Find. Find. Find,_ Stiles thinks silently, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels the stone swing over his palm. When he opens his eyes, he sees it swinging towards his window. 

" _Shit._ " 

 

* * *

  

Peter is already halfway gone when he exits the house. His eyes are burning, teeth sharp and claws out.  

"Red," he growls, the word a hiss leaving his lungs. Stiles climbs out of his Jeep, the moonlight making the shadows of his face stark against pale skin. 

"Hey there, Big Bad. Ready to roll?" 

When Peter chuckles, the sound is like falling rocks- dangerous and ominous. 

 

* * *

 

Derek hates electricity.  

At least, when it's applied to his body. The current is painful and he knows he's sweating. He could just shift, but he has the sneaking suspicion that's just what the mercenaries want. 

They're not really hunters. They claim to be but Derek knows how hunters work, knows that taking out someone who looks human without evidence is a fast track to becoming blacklisted. All in all, he's just surprised they haven't been caught themselves. Ex-hunters with the knowledge and power to take out werewolves are usually rounded up before they can cause irreparable damage- and possibly all-out war. 

"This is boring," the woman says and Derek doesn't lift his head to look at her. He knows her type. She's blonde, scarred, and has a mean streak. She's probably seen one too many stray Omega attacks. 

"Yeah, well, it pays," the man replies dryly. He's older and rough, probably disillusioned. The type with a tragic backstory who's taken advantage of their misfortune to justify their actions. 

"He'll break," another voice answers from the doorway. "They all do." 

The third is a werewolf, the one man Derek isn't sure he wants to chance. He could easily change and take out the two hunters but the werewolf poses a problem. The man is large, muscled, and watchful. Something about his reptilian eyes and cold words makes Derek shiver. He's the type of man that would kill a child if there was enough money involved. 

The room is silent for a moment as the device recharges and Derek breathes heavily, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. 

There's a thump. 

Derek can hear it and he knows the wolf can too, watching as the man's eyes shoot towards the ceiling. 

"Smith," the wolf says, jerking his head to the door. The hunter rises, reaching for a rifle. "You too, Rider." 

The woman howls mockingly, swinging a pistol on her index finger. The wolf rolls his eyes at her, unlocking the door. 

"Hey, Branson. I'm not getting paid to get eviscerated," Smith says lowly, stopping at the door. It's a warning, Derek thinks. 

"I hope you're a runner," Branson says, eyes locked forward and tone mild. Derek can tell, though, there's a thin veil of peace over the werewolf's words. 

Smith waits at the door for a moment, watching the werewolf's face. He snorts, muttering under his breath as he leaves. Derek slows his breathing. 

It's silent for a couple of minutes before the electricity jolts him again and he clenches his teeth, hoping to god that whoever has stumbled upon the hideout won't get killed. 

 

* * *

 

The hunters emerge after Peter breaks a branch from the tree hiding the entrance to the hideout. Stiles had known where they'd taken Derek right away, familiar with all of the abandoned Argent safe rooms. It was his luck that the spot wasn't too far from the Hale's house. 

"I expected more," the woman sneers as she exits, swinging a pistol on her finger.  

"Gun safety 101," Stiles murmurs under his breath. Peter's laugh is bloody. 

"At least we only have to worry about one," the male hunter says, training his gun on Peter. 

"I wouldn't even worry about him," the woman laughs. 

Stiles decides he's had enough so he flexes his fingers, feeling the magic ripple down from the pendant lying on his chest.  

"Fetch," Stiles says simply and he takes a moment to relish the sudden terror in the hunters' eyes as Peter lunges forward. 

The fight was over before it ever began. 

Stiles' wards and charms had been lying dormant in the earth, tugging at his limbs like insistent children. He lets them rise, allowing the magic to channel through the metal of his pendant and the ancient curves and lines of his tattoos. The feeling is like a spark running across his skin, static electricity that pumps into his heart with every beat.  

When the hunters move, Stiles _thinks_ the words and he hears the magic like a heavy metal chain suddenly pulled taut. The magic expands, reaching upwards as it crackles with energy. The hunters are immediately confined to a ten-foot radius. 

As Stiles concentrates on keeping the barrier up, the hunters desperately try to maneuver in the little room they have. Peter is a werewolf, though, stocky and compact and moving with fury. He easily knocks them both back, tossing the hunters like rag dolls.  

In just under a minute, Stiles lets the magic drop back into the earth and Peter straightens, the blood in his eyes tempered by the first rush of combat. 

"No blood. I'm proud of you," Stiles smiles, letting his fingers lace through Peter's hair as he brings their foreheads together. 

He lets Peter breathe for a moment, watching the wolf peer out of the man's eyes. Peter looks to the door of the safe room. 

"Free game," Peter says slowly, his smile more teeth than feeling. 

"Free game," Stiles agrees, smirking. "You earned it." 

 

* * *

 

Derek watches the wolf's stance change when they realize the scuffle outside has ended. Branson looks he already knows the outcome and Derek thinks for a moment that maybe coming through the front door wasn't the smartest idea. 

There's a knock at the heavy metal door. 

Branson slides his gaze to Derek and Derek thinks he sees a spark of feral joy in the werewolf's face. It makes him think of Peter and how the man could have turned out. 

"Room service," Stiles' cheery voice calls through the door. Derek feels his heart stop. 

Branson raises an eyebrow at Derek, an amused and pleased smile crossing his lips.  

"Don-," Derek begins, but he never finishes because Branson elbows him in the stomach.  

As Derek gasps for air, Branson unlocks the door and goes to stand by Derek, casually picking up a hunting knife from the table by them. It smells like wolfsbane. 

"Come in." 

When the door opens Derek sees Stiles first. He's wearing a red hoodie- _the_ red hoodie, Derek thinks, because Peter follows with a pleased expression. Stiles swings a metal bat carelessly in his hand and Derek realizes they're both still wearing their matching shirts. He dimly thinks that they're ironic, which is probably the point, and then electricity jumps across his skin. 

Peter growls. 

"So. Here we are," Branson says, watching Peter and Stiles with interest. 

"Not for long. At least for you," Peter laughs roughly, rolling his head as his shoulders ripple with the wolf inside him. 

"Sure," Branson says pleasantly, like an amused parent. 

Derek is worried. He knows how strong Peter is but Branson is huge and in close quarters he's likely dangerous. Aside from the wolfsbane-laced knife, Derek also knows that Stiles is fair game. Stiles is human and Derek is both frustrated and anxious that he would choose to enter a closed space with a very big, very dangerous werewolf. 

" _God_ , you're boring me. Jesus. I woke up at 3 am and all you have for me is posturing bullshit?" Stiles interrupts and he looks genuinely pissed at Branson. 

Derek wonders if it's the electrocution or if Stiles is actually disappointed. 

"And what are you doing, human?" Branson asks and the amusement in his voice has been replaced by danger. He seems ready to kill. 

"Oh my god, I need Chinese food," Stiles mutters, rubbing his eyes. 

"Don't worry, when I'm done I'll pack you up nice and pretty in some takeout," Branson laughs darkly and Derek growls. 

Stiles' gaze flickers to Derek and he looks oddly sorry for a moment. As if this is his fault. Or maybe it's something else. Either way the expression dissolves and he turns to Branson, looking more like Peter than Derek has seen anyone come close to. 

"I'll give you one minute to lay your ass on the ground before I do it for you," Stiles says coldly and his words have _weight_. Derek can practically feel them dropping like stones. 

It's almost like a prayer, he thinks. There's power.  

Branson ignores him, twitching minutely as if something is bothering him. 

"You're funny," Branson grins and Derek can see him getting ready to move.  

Several things happen in the span of a few seconds.  

Peter swings the door open and his eyes glow with sudden color. As he moves, Stiles lifts his hands, fingers curved like a puppeteer's. There's a change in the air like the weather before a storm and Derek sees Stiles' eyes seem to fill with molten gold. 

" ** _Stad_** ," Stiles commands and Derek feels a pull in his gut that's equal parts painful and relieving. 

Branson growls as he tries to move, limbs straining. Derek can see faint lines pulsing and glowing in the ground. 

"Get 'im, boy," Stiles grinds out and Peter smiles from the shadows. 

His uncle's clawed hand swipes forward to slam Branson in the chest. The werewolf gasps as the air leaves his lungs and he flies backwards into the earthen walls. Stiles lets the spell drop, sweat beading his forehead as he slams his palms towards the ground. The movement looks almost like he's closing the lid on something. 

Branson roars, desperately knocking Peter back. Stiles puts a hand on the man's shoulder and Derek can see his grin even from the side. As the angry werewolf charges forward, Stiles sidesteps him, swinging his bat with inhuman speed. His eyes glow gold and sparks dance across the metal surface. 

A sickening crack echoes in the room and the werewolf falls. Peter laughs, claws sinking into Branson's back as he tosses him towards the door. As Branson rises to exit, face filled with triumph at the prospect of wider fighting grounds, Peter looks to Stiles. 

Stiles, eyes gold and fingers lacing around unseen forces, winks. 

 

* * *

 

 

"Let's get you down," Stiles says as Peter follows Branson out.  

Derek inhales slowly, watching Stiles shut off the device before reaching out. 

"Be careful," Derek manages to say even though it's the dumbest thing he could have possibly said. 

Stiles shoots him a look. 

"You okay? Because I _did_ just-," 

"I know," Derek cuts him off, trying to think of what he wants to say. The pain is still there, though, and it muddles his thoughts. 

Stiles snaps the chains easily, fingers pressing invisible weaknesses to let Derek down. 

"Peter," Derek starts and Stiles huffs a laugh as he supports him. 

"He's fine. I gave him rules." 

As they walk out the door Derek belatedly realizes that Stiles thinks he's worried _about_ Peter, not for him. He reminds himself to get up the guts to ask what exactly _is_ between Peter and Stiles. 

When they get out, Peter is sitting on Branson's torso. He seems to be pouting. 

"No fun. He didn't last that long." 

"Stamina," Stiles smirks and Derek gets the feeling it's another private joke. 

"Stamina," Peter agrees. 

 

* * *

 

" _Derek_!" Laura yells as they drive up. Derek has to keep from wincing at the screech in her voice. 

"I'm fine-," Derek starts but he can't even finish before Laura hits his shoulder. 

"You _id_ iot, why would you just run off in the middle of the night, you _know_ they're-," 

"Laura," Stiles interrupts and the venom and power has gone from his voice. Instead, he sounds more like the caring person Derek has come to think of him as. "He's fine." 

Laura sighs, takes a moment, and Derek realizes through the fading fog of pain that she's been radiating worry and relief. He ducks his head, leaning a little on Stiles. 

"I'm fine." 

"Let's get you cleaned up," Laura finally says and she walks to his other side, supporting her brother. 

Stiles moves to let go but Derek quietly grips his shoulder tighter, imagining he can feel Stiles' skin through his hoodie. 

It's been a long night. 

 

* * *

 

 

"How did you know where I was?" 

Derek is bundled on the couch, hot chocolate in hand. Laura is excessive with her mothering when Derek or Cora are hurt. Apparently this extends to Stiles, though, because he's also been allowed hot chocolate. 

"Um....," Stiles shifts uncomfortably, blushing. He looks into his mug with interest as if he can pass the color off as heat. "I have a few dowsing crystals. I keep one under my pillow- kyanite, for psychic energy and communication. I can get pretty interesting 'dreams' with it." 

"So you...dreamed about me?" Derek finishes, feeling incredibly stupid and also like he's probably blushing. Laura snorts quietly into her mug. 

"Yeah, kinda. I mean, I felt pain and I could kind of see the others. Your...perspective, your aura or whatever- I recognized it." 

"My what?" 

"It's...feeling what someone else is, or seeing what they do- it's different for everyone. Sometimes, when I connect, I get senses. Smells, tastes, images. They're different for everyone and I can usually identify people by their imprint." 

"So what do-," 

"Derek," Peter chides him, emerging from the kitchen with a Nutella sandwich on a plate. "Why don't you just show us your underwear, then?" 

Derek shoots him a look but drops the question, suddenly aware of how personal things are getting. For a second he thinks they'll lapse into silence but then he gets the faint scent of iron and his head shoots up to look at Stiles. 

Stiles doesn't seem bothered and Peter puts his sandwich down, kneeling before Stiles. He uses a hand on Stiles' neck to guide his head down, pulling a tissue from seemingly nowhere. The blood escaping Stiles' nose fills Derek's head with unpleasant images and he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. 

"You okay?" Laura asks, concerned. 

"Oh, yeah," Stiles says quickly, smiling. Peter picks up the sandwich and passes it to Stiles. Derek wonders if this is just something else the two of them share. "Not good to do magic on an empty stomach." 

"Was it too much?" Derek asks suddenly and a small pit of guilt builds in his stomach. 

"No. I actually have plenty of stuff worked into the safe rooms anyways. They're my territory. It's just the human component. You need energy in the vessel to get energy from the surroundings," Stiles explains, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

"Our little Spark can do quite a bit of damage, even with very little energy," Peter adds, returning from the hallway with a blanket. He drops if over Stiles, who smiles gratefully. 

"Well, you're welcome to pass out here," Laura says warmly, ruffling Stiles' already messy hair. 

"Thanks," Stiles says and Derek can see his weariness even as he puts his plate and mug back on the side table next to him. 

"Sleep. Cora and Laura will be out today," Peter says quietly, settling himself at the foot of the couch Stiles is sitting on. 

Derek leans against the arm of the sofa, eyes heavy as his blanket warms him. Stiles, across from him, smiles sleepily, hand dangling from the couch to mess with Peter's hair. It's the closest Derek has seen his uncle get to anyone. It makes him happy and he watches them for a minute, letting his exhaustion carry him into a deep sleep. 

 

* * *

 

 

"He's going to find out. What's the point?" 

Peter sounds amused. Derek assumes he's talking to Stiles. 

"There's no- I don't know," Stiles replies, agitated. Derek frowns.  

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Peter chuckles and Derek feels a pillow hit his face. 

"Thanks. For a moment there, I forgot I was home," Derek says drily, rubbing his eyes as he rises from the couch.  

Apparently Stiles decided to cook breakfast for dinner. It's six o'clock according to the clock on the side table and Derek can smell bacon and ham. 

"Well, get up. Food's ready," Peter says, waving a fork at Derek as he returns to setting the table. 

Derek splashes water on his face as he tries not to think about what Stiles looks like in the kitchen. He reminds himself that Stiles is a guest and if anything has more in common with Peter. Which he's not jealous about. At all. 

"Peter! Quit making a mess with the oranges," Stiles says, laughter in his voice. 

Derek feels like he's been electrocuted again, but it's not painful. Stiles is wearing one of Peter's old shirts, an oversized and overwashed pale blue cotton tee. His hair is sticking up in fifteen different directions and Derek thinks- he _thinks-_ Laura must have purposely given Stiles some of Derek's old basketball sweatpants. They have his number and the school's name on the leg. 

Derek has to fight the pleased growl in his throat. 

"Derek, there's _food_ ," Cora says from her spot on the kitchen sink. She sounds pleased. 

"I can see that." 

"I don't think you understand the honor we have been bestowed," Peter says drily but there's a hint of pride attached to his snarky comment. 

"Gee, thanks," Stiles interjects, snorting as he plates up a pancake. The food smells amazing and Derek already knows it'll be better than anything Laura or Cora could make. 

When they get to the kitchen table, Cora has already started talking at Stiles. _At_ him, because once she really gets started Derek knows there's almost no way to get a word in edgewise. 

"So Lydia's coming next week, right? Allison and Isaac are in France with Chris; they won't be back for another month. Jackson's leaving ahead of time, so he'll get in tomorrow. Erica and Boyd are at the beach for a weekend but they'll be back next Monday-," 

"Wait, Liam said-," 

"What _did_ Liam say?" Cora asks slyly. Derek can practically feel his ears twitch as he listens in. 

"Liam did not _say_ anything because there is nothing _to_ say," Stiles says firmly. 

"Who's Liam?" Derek asks casually but across the table Peter smirks around a bite of pancake. 

"Old friend of Scott's," Stiles explains and Derek can see a blush creeping up his neck. "Your sisters seem to think we're secretly in love." 

"He followed you _everywhere_ when you were in high school together," Laura points out, grinning. 

"Yeah, and _Scott_ was his Alpha," Cora adds, giving Stiles a knowing look. 

Derek bites his pancake with more force than necessary and he hears his teeth click.  

"He just needed someone to listen. Everyone does," Stiles counters, modestly ducking his head. 

"Sure. Anyways, how is your puppy boy?" 

"He's doing so well! You should see his essays, they're _so_ much more developed," Stiles gushes immediately. 

Laura and Cora laugh so hard Stiles' protests go unheard. 

 

* * *

 

 

_"I want to run away!"_  

Derek jolts awake, echoes of a child's voice ringing in his head. The edges of the dream cling to his mind like wisps of cotton and he blinks, trying to remember it. He feels like he's had it before. 

"My friend," Derek mutters, tasting the word through the sleep that's heavy in his mouth. 

_I_ _can't believe you don’t remember your friend._  

When he goes downstairs, Cora is already gone and Laura is about to leave. He hesitates for a moment, remembering the fragments of Peter and Stiles' conversation. Part of him doesn't want to ask. 

"What were you trying to say, the other day? About Stiles?" 

Laura pauses, hands hovering over the lunch she's been packing for herself. She resumes her work slowly, gazing at the tupperware lid she's closing as if it has the answer. 

"What do you remember from before the fire?" 

The question catches him off guard and he mentally stumbles, blinking rapidly as he tries to keep up with the change. 

"I...not much. 'Normal' life, I guess. Regular stuff." 

"Do you remember playing with other kids?"  

Laura watches him intently, eyes serious as she waits for his answer. He frowns, eyes darting around the house as if he'll see past memories embedded in the walls. 

"I...we usually stayed in the family, didn't we?" 

Even as he says it something nags at the back of his mind. Laura must notice because she tilts her head, leaning against the counter. 

"Remember Dad's trips? He would go off for weeks at a time and you would pout and run off to the woods," Laura laughed, eyes fond and sad as she remembered. 

"I wasn't pouting," Derek argues gently but really it's for show. He knows what he was like as a child. As a teenager, even. 

"We never did know what you did in the woods," Laura says softly, eyes unfocused as she loses herself in the memories. 

"I...I had a friend," Derek realizes, the thought hitting him like a punch to the gut. 

He can remember running off, remembers talking to someone, but the faces and words are gone. Laura watches him as if waiting for him to say something. He looks up at her, worried and slightly desperate. 

"Why can't I remember?" 

 

* * *

 

Scott calls Derek late in the afternoon. 

_"Hey. The Pack is getting together tomorrow. Stiles, Jackson, Liam- you don't know him-, Kira and Lydia. Allison and Isaac won't be back for a while but we want to do something. Would you like to come? Laura and Cora can, too."_  

"Where?" Derek asks. If he's being honest, he stopped caring once Scott said Stiles' name. 

_"We'll be at Stiles' house-,"_  

Scott stops talking when someone yells at him. Derek can't hear the words but he's almost completely certain it was Stiles. 

_"Oh, and Stiles says to tell you to remind Peter not to piss of Malia too much again because he can't afford another table."_  

Derek laughs. Malia spends her time with both her foster father and Peter; she inherited Peter's attitude and they sometimes needle each other into physically rough but not serious fights. 

"I'll do that." 

_"AND TELL HIM TO BRING THE STONE!"_  

Derek blinks as Stiles screams from the other end of the line. Scott laughs and Derek bites back a grin, shaking his head. 

"Yeah. I'll tell him." 

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh my god, we are so blessed," Cora moans as they drive up to Stiles' house. They can already smell the burgers. 

"Can we kidnap Stiles? Do you think his dad would mind?" Laura jokes, but Derek gets the fleeting idea that she's actually half serious. 

The backyard isn't quite small but it's cozy enough. The Sheriff is at the grill, shaking his head in a move Derek has come to associate with the man. His few interactions with the man have led him to believe that John has a high tolerance for the supernatural thanks to having to deal with his son. 

"Derek," Jackson calls from the fence. He's holding a beer and he looks well, Derek thinks, which makes him strangely happy. Jackson was certainly not the best teenager but he never deserved the mess he had to go through in high school. 

"How are you?" Derek asks, hands shoved in his pockets. He's relaxed at the Stilinskis', something about the place putting him at ease. 

"All right. It's been a while. Where did you run off to?" 

"I went East. Back to an old apartment my parents kept. I figured I needed to sort things out, get the family in order." 

Jackson nods, glancing to his left. He suddenly smiles and Derek is momentarily taken aback. He's not sure he's ever seen Jackson really smile and the transformation of the young man's face is incredible. He's almost like a different person. 

"I swear Liam loves Stilinski almost more than his own dad," Jackson chuckles, tipping the mouth of his bottle towards the two. 

Derek appraises Liam. He's compact, dark blond hair sticking up and almost as unruly as Stiles'. He seems almost shy, ducking his head more than not as he talks to Stiles. Derek concentrates for a moment, listening. 

"It was nice, though. It really helped since almost everyone was gone," Liam says, a small smile crossing his face as he looks up at Stiles. 

"That's good. You didn't have any trouble during the full moon? I know we talked over the phone, but-," 

"Yeah, totally. And- thanks. For doing that," Liam adds and Derek swears he can see the kid turning red despite the darkness of night. 

Stiles laughs and claps Liam's shoulder and Derek falls in love with Stiles a little more. 

"You met Liam?" Jackson asks, jolting Derek out of his reverie. 

Derek panics for a moment, hoping his staring wasn't obvious. Unfortunately, Jackson is a werewolf and he seems to know Derek enough to give him a look that says he knows _exactly_ what is going through Derek's mind. 

Or maybe Derek's just obvious. 

Jackson doesn't give Derek a chance to respond, instead pulling the man by the arm towards Liam and Stiles. Derek panics, trying to appear nonchalant as they approach. 

"Hey. Look who's here," Jackson interrupts Stiles, jerking his head towards Derek. 

Stiles' face lights up and Derek tries to tell himself that it's not because it's _Derek_ , it's because Stiles is Stiles and he's happy and friendly and perfect. 

"Hey! Did you bring the family?" 

"Present!" Laura, Cora, and Peter yell from their respective spots across the yard. They say it like it's the punchline to a joke, which Derek guesses it must be because everyone else laughs. 

"So...who's this?" Derek asks, trying not to sound hostile as he turns his gaze to Liam. 

Surprisingly, Liam looks Derek straight in the eyes. Liam's eyes are blue, Derek notices, and something in his gaze says that he'd be ready to fight at the drop of a pin if necessary. 

"Liam," the young man says before Stiles can respond. He holds his hand out, waiting. 

Derek pauses for a second, thinking. He's not sure what to think. 

"Derek," he introduces himself, shaking Liam's hand. His grip is firm. 

"You've earned yourself a drink," Stiles grins, bumping Liam's shoulder. Liam drops his head, smiling, and Derek can't help but like the kid. 

"Proud of you!" Stiles yells as Liam walks away. Liam laughs. "He used to be extremely confrontational. You know, kind of like Jackson when he used to have a stick up his ass." 

" _Used_ to?" Cora calls from across the backyard. Jackson flips her off lazily. 

"Hmm," Derek hums, smiling. "I guess you've done well, then." 

"Yeah. I hope I have," Stiles smiles and he looks happy but also relieved. 

"It's nice to see you all together. I wasn't sure how things would work out with graduation and leaving Beacon Hills." 

"We've been doing well," Stiles says mildly. "Scott and Liam stayed in town. Kira left but she always comes back for Scott. Jackson went to Europe and Allison and Isaac did, too. Lydia is Lydia; she got into her first choice." 

"And you?" Derek asks, watching Stiles carefully. Stiles leans against the side of the house. 

"I was never really going to be anything," he muses and Derek makes a displeased noise. 

"You-," 

"No, really," Stiles interrupts. "I mean, maybe I could've been a sheriff like my dad. Really, I didn't know what I was going to do. Going to college, getting out- it was something I planned, yeah. But I planned to keep us together. I was scared." 

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to stay Pack, stay close," Derek volunteers. 

"No. But that's not how life works, not really," Stiles says ruefully. "I had to figure out my own life. I mean, everyone kind of had an idea of what they were going to do. I mean, even Scott knew he was going to be a vet. Scott, who was-is- dealing with being a werewolf." 

"And you think that means you should have known? You can't judge yourself by comparing yourself to a werewolf," Derek says, exasperated. 

"I know," Stiles replies, looking Derek in the eyes. Derek is momentarily floored by the wisdom he sees. "Anyways, I decided to go to college but I only take online courses. Most of my time is spent travelling, learning from different Packs. They're great. Deaton helps me make arrangements and most of them are happy to help." 

"So what are you doing, exactly?" Derek asks, still not sure. 

"I learn," Stiles replies, smiling, and his face lights up with something invisible. "It's what I love and it helps. We never used to know what we were doing, you know? I just figured...there's no going back. I might as well use what I'm good at to make myself valuable in this weird supernatural world." 

Even as Stiles laughs Derek feels the pit of his stomach disappear. He feels as if he's falling, pulse beating in his ears, and he wants it to be a stupid cliché but it's true. He thinks that maybe at first he found Stiles attractive. Physically beautiful, intellectually gifted, even somewhat powerful as far as Derek knew. But now, now that he knows _why_ Stiles does what he does, he can tell that his heart is chained in place.  

He couldn't stop loving Stiles if he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys~. So what started as a literal short fic from a prompt list blew up into 30+ pages on my laptop and I realized I NEEDED to publish it or I would go insane. So, for the first time ever, I am giving you a fic where at least 2 chapters are written ahead. Thus I will release one every Friday...for now. Anyhow, I've been feeling recently like no one's really reading my works anymore but I love writing, so. Let me know if you have questions/comments/concerns/suggestions! I love to hear from you all.


	3. Blood and Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alpha Pack isn't letting up any time soon and things get tense. Derek is exposed to the reality of Stiles' power for the first time and it isn't like anything he could have expected.

They're outside when it happens.

Scott's Pack is at the Hale house and everyone is running around outside, darts flying as the plastic snap of Nerf guns echo in the yard.

Derek nails Cora in the back, laughing as his sister growls and retreats to the porch to yell at the others with Isaac and Scott.

There's a shift, a current like a static shock that ripples through the ground and Derek can _feel_ it pass through his body, the hair on his arms standing up. He turns to his left, senses heightened as the wolf in him tells him something is wrong. Everyone has frozen in place.

In the middle of the yard, Stiles drops to his knees, head tilted to the sky. All eyes turn to him.

"Stiles!" Scott shouts from the other end of the yard.

Derek watches in horror, time slowing to a crawl.

The black seems to start from Stiles' pupils, engulfing his eyes within seconds as his mouth opens and he starts to scream, hands flying to the sides of his head.

Derek immediately moves forward but suddenly Peter is at his side, deadly strong grip holding him back by his arm. Peter's eyes are glowing and his teeth have dropped.

"Stop!" His uncle barks and the others have come off the porch, approaching Stiles with worried expressions.

"Something's hurting him!" Derek growls, trying to shake his uncle off.

"If we touch him, we could hurt him _and_ ourselves," Scott explains but Derek can tell how it hurts him not to be able to help. "We have to wait. He can handle himself."

"Stiles," Liam pleads and Derek notices the young man is kneeling before Stiles. He isn't touching Stiles but his hands are knotted in his hoodie, knuckles white. "Come on, Stiles, we're all here. Remember what you told me. Come back."

Stiles' scream twists into an angry roar and he bends forward, hands slamming into the ground. The static shift ripples again and Derek looks down, lifting his feet automatically when he sees the gold lines shimmering under them.

"His protections," Laura explains tensely, looking around the yard and back towards the house. "They're holding."

Liam bends down, cheek close to the earth as he tilts his head to try and look at Stiles' face.

"Come on. Fight it. Fight it, Stiles!"

" **NÍL TÁ FÁILTE ROMHAT**." Stiles spits and the words crackle in the air. Even Derek feels a vague sense of dread.

A second later, the static dissipates and Stiles lets out an exhausted breath, chest heaving as he slides to the ground, lying on his side.

"Are you okay?" Liam asks, his hands instantly reaching for Stiles' shoulders.

Stiles spits, the coppery scent of blood reaching Derek's nose.

"Water," Stiles manages and Derek can hear the remnants of pain in his voice.

"Get him inside," Laura instructs, already moving towards the house. "Cora, water."

Liam helps Stiles up, Peter appearing at his other side. As they go, Derek sees the back of Stiles' shirt. It's ripped and the tattoos on his back seem to be pulsing, almost as if they were moving before.

"What was it?" Scott asks as they get inside. Cora appears with water and Stiles drinks. Derek can see a drop of blood fall in, staining the clear liquid pink.

"An attack," Stiles grinds out and Derek can see the fury in his eyes. "They **_dare_** -," he starts and the word is buzzing with power the same way his strange incantation was before.

"Stiles," Liam cautions him, a hand on his arm.

Stiles breathes deeply, rolling his head as he gathers himself.

"They were using dark magic. Something they didn't know how to control. It's unruly and it put a strain on my wards. It would have affected you, but I kept it contained."

"You took it all?" Peter asks, disbelief and anger coloring his words.

"Yes. And they will regret that," Stiles spits. Derek thinks that if Stiles were a werewolf, his eyes would be bloody red.

"Why did you take everything? We can handle it," Scott argues, hands rubbing his face. Derek gets the sense it's an old argument.

"It makes them easier to find if I get it all," Stiles replies darkly. "Either way, it shouldn't have been that powerful. When this is over, I'll have to find out just what it was feeding off of."

"Okay, I'm going to throw this out at the risk of sounding stupid. _Who_ did this?" Derek finally asks, arms crossed over his chest.

"The Alpha Pack," Stiles growls.

 

* * *

 

After five minutes of arguing, Stiles enforces a lockdown. Both Packs are holed up in the Hale house and Stiles gives them each tasks. Laura and Cora look into where the Alpha Pack might be staying. Lydia, Kira, and Allison prepare a list of things for Stiles. Scott, Liam, Jackson, and Isaac go out to Stiles' safe rooms, keeping to a strict radius that Stiles gives them. Peter watches over Stiles as he sleeps and Derek moves around the house, checking Stiles' protections.

"How's he doing?" Derek whispers when he gets through half an hour later, approaching Peter in the living room.

"He's sleeping well. Food and water helped." Peter is still obviously irritated, eyes sharp.

"Is he going to be ready? We really shouldn't take him anyways, he's human-,"

Peter growls low in his chest and he pushes Derek into the wall, avoiding the doorway so they won't be seen.

"Derek, because you are my nephew I will let this go. But _do not_ ever insinuate that Stiles is not powerful enough to handle himself."

Derek watches his uncle's face for a moment, trying to decide whether Peter is biased, blinded by his love for Stiles. He finds instead the cold stare of a killer- and it fills him with relief.

He knows then that Stiles is powerful enough.

 

* * *

 

"I'm ready," Stiles announces, cool as ice as he rises from the couch.

All eyes turn to him when he approaches the dining room table. He pulls something from his pocket and Derek sees that it's a silver chain with a stone on the end.

"Here's the map. There are three locations- the bank, the warehouse, the apartments. We think these are our best bets," Kira explains, pointing the places out.

"Time to see," Stiles murmurs, closing his eyes. The chain begins to swing in his hand, looping in circles over the map.

As they watch, the circles move, eventually resting over the bank. Stiles opens his eyes, watching the stone flash under the lights.

"Time to cash my check," Stiles grins and it's just like Peter's- shark-like and cold.

"What's the plan?" Derek asks promptly.

"Derek, Peter, Laura- you three are in first. We're going to hit them with force, stun them back. Liam, Isaac, Scott, Jackson, Malia- you're after me. Come through second wave and make sure you've all got someone's back. Allison, Kira, Cora, Lydia- you four come in last. I want you covering the exits- _no one_ gets out."

"Aye aye," Peter grins, cracking his knuckles.

"Let's go raise hell," Stiles says mildly and Derek can see gold light beginning to illuminate the edges of his eyes.

 

* * *

 

It's a cold, wet night. Derek crouches by the door of the bank with Laura and Peter, waiting. Stiles stands on the sidewalk, looking at the door as if he can see through it. Derek isn't certain he can't.

" _Go_ ," Stiles whispers harshly and Derek pivots towards the door, the silence broken in the moment before they storm the building.

When the door explodes inwards, Derek rushes in, almost blinded by the darkness and his own fury. There are four visible targets and he barely registers Laura and Peter as they attack. Derek lunges, eyes fixed on the largest of the four, a large werewolf he knows is capable of throwing him across the room. He's glad the others are on their way in.

At the door, Stiles enters quietly, slipping into the shadows as the wolves fight.

He makes his way to a room on the left, the crystal at his neck pulling him towards the door. When he opens it, his blood runs cold.

Erica and Boyd are curled on the floor, pain and fury written on their faces.

"Stiles?" Erica whispers.

The Pack outside can smell their friends. They hear Erica's voice, even over the roars of the Alpha Pack. Stiles inhales, feeling gold envelop his vision. Fury rises in his chest.

"Stay here," he says, smiling even as stray tears sting his eyes. For a moment, he looks not like a killer but like a guardian, an angel. This is what Erica thinks as he turns to leave and her hand finds Boyd's, gripping it with a strength she didn't think she had left.

Stiles leaves the room and as he exits Scott turns to see his friend emerging, something like a bluish black miasma surrounding him. Stiles smells dangerous and Scott recognizes the wolfsbane, backing away from his friend instinctively.

On the other side of the room, another werewolf emerges, dark glasses falling to reveal irritated red eyes. Before Scott can warn him, Stiles snarls, gold eyes focusing on the other four werewolves.

"Back off," Stiles growls and the rest of the Pack retreat hesitantly, watching Stiles. "Isaac, Jackson, Liam- get Erica and Boyd out. Take Allison, Lydia, Malia, and Cora with you."

Stiles advances towards the center of the room and Scott moves to flank him, watching the remaining Hales do the same.

"I must admit I was curious why our earlier magic failed," the man at the opposite end of the room says.

"I'm sure," Stiles says lowly, rolling his head. Scott can see muscles in his neck twitching.

"I wish I could say we don't need to fight," the man says and there is no regret in his voice.

Stiles seems to ignore the man, pulling his shirt over his head. Scott holds his breath when he sees the tattoos on Stiles' back, black lines pulsing with the same blue-black color surrounding the rest of his body.

"Enough with the pleasantries, Deucalion," the female werewolf before them says, sneering at Derek. "Let us kill them."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Stiles says silkily and Scott notices for the first time that he's holding a metal chain, the links wrapped around his fingers.

"I _am_ sorry," Deucalion says, retreating into shadow. Stiles laughs.

"I'm not."

When the werewolves advance, Stiles turns to look over his shoulder at the Pack.

" **Stay back** ," he says, smiling, and Scott can see a hint of sadness in the curve of his lips.

Stiles moves his arms outward and suddenly there's a thin line of mountain ash behind him. Scott wonders if it was always there because he can't think of any other way for it to appear so quickly. The wolves stop short, snarling, and then they start to attack Stiles.

Derek growls, moving forward, but the ash stops him.

The female werewolf approaches Stiles first but the moment she swipes at him he grabs her arm, smiling as she cries out in pain. Scott can see her veins turning black, the wolfsbane poisoning her.

" **Down** ," Stiles commands, bracing his right arm against her neck as he uses it to throw her to the ground. The force is too great, Scott thinks, and somewhere at the back of his mind he realizes it has something to do with the power in Stiles' voice as he speaks.

The next werewolf approaches, the large one that Derek had been fighting. Scott thinks the wolfsbane surrounding Stiles is diminishing but if it is it doesn't bother him. Stiles pivots, wrist flicking. The chain in his hand snaps towards the werewolf and Scott can see the dagger at the end nick the large man, blue liquid seeping from the wound it inflicts.

"You're more trouble than you're worth," Stiles snarls, the gold in his eyes intensifying. " **Move**."

When Stiles swings his palm towards the man, the werewolf goes flying into the wall. The crack his body makes is loud enough that Scott flinches. He can see the Hales watching Stiles with wide eyes.

The remaining werewolves are twins, Scott notices, and they run to each other, morphing disturbingly into a single form. Stiles watches them unflinchingly, drawing a dagger out from his pocket. As the wolf charges, Stiles moves faster than he should be able to, ducking beneath the outstretched arm. He slips behind the large form and Scott can barely see Stiles stab the wolf in the back, the roar shaking the empty room. Stiles' hand is barely visible as he catches hold of the creature's shoulder, pulling himself up.

"How is he doing that?" Derek whispers.

Scott doesn't have an answer.

Stiles twists the dagger, holding on to the werewolf as it roars in pain and falls forward onto its knees. Scott can see Stiles pull a bottle of something yellow from his pocket, popping it open to shove whatever the powder is into the wound he's made. The wolf howls in pain one last time and slumps to the ground, shifting painfully until it separates into the twins.

"Stiles," Peter says and even his cautious voice sounds loud in the suddenly silent bank.

Stiles is breathing heavily, crouched on the floor. His palm twists on the ground and Scott can see the line of ash break, what seems like a small breeze pushing a hole in the dark powder. The others surge forward to Stiles but he tilts his head and they pause, watching the man in the shadows.

"It seems...we were not aware of the situation," Deucalion begins and Scott can hear thinly veiled anxiety in the man's words. He is afraid, Scott thinks. Of Stiles. Of what he could do.

"So it seems," Stiles says and Scott can tell his voice is rough, as if he's been screaming. The faint scent of blood lingers when he approaches Stiles.

"We will not bother you again," Deucalion says and Scott can tell he's trying to get out of the situation.

With a start, he realizes Deucalion thinks Stiles will kill them all. He isn't sure if he wouldn't think the same.

"No. You won't," Stiles replies, stepping forward. Deucalion tenses. "And if you do..."

The statement lingers, unfinished, and Scott can see the gold in Stiles' eyes abate. They return to their familiar honey-brown and Scott feels a whisper of relief.

Deucalion inclines his head tensely, hands clasped. Stiles watches him for a moment, features more human, no longer sharpened by the gold of his magic. A whisper of a smile slips onto his face.

Stiles turns to walk away and the others follow.

 

* * *

 

"Holy _shit_ ," Laura says. They're in her car, driving home. She lets out a heavy breath, glancing at Stiles in the backseat. "Honey, you _really_ let loose this time."

"Was this all from your last trip?" Scott asks. His eyes are still wide.

"Some," Stiles replies quietly, head tilted forward almost between his knees. He holds a tissue to his nose and the smell of blood fills Derek's nose.

The car is silent for a few more minutes as they make their way back. As they drive up to the house Derek can see Liam pacing the porch. Jackson and Malia stand on either side of the house, watching the trail. The engine hasn't even shut off completely before Liam is at the car, agitated as he opens the door.

"Stiles," Liam says, letting Scott exit before he moves forward.

"I'm fine," Stiles manages, speaking through the tissue and blood in his nose.

When Stiles climbs down Liam immediately supports him and Derek notices Stiles blink rapidly as if he's dizzy. The two make their way towards the house and the others meet them, watching Stiles.

"What happened?" Malia demands tersely, opening the door for the group.

Derek shoots her a look and her gaze darts to Stiles. She doesn't speak, understanding and waiting.

"Oh, god," Lydia says as they enter. She jumps up to meet Stiles and Liam, already holding a kit and tissues. "Sit down. Here."

Kira rises from her seat, going to Scott. Derek watches everyone reunite, relief flooding the room. Peter makes his way to the couch where Stiles is sitting.

"You know better," Lydia chastises, using a damp cloth to wipe the blood drying on Stiles' face. She hands him a glass of water and an oddly colored pill that he grimaces at.

"I'm stronger, Lydia. It didn't kill me," Stiles mutters, swallowing the pill. Derek can see the pain written on his face and he wonders whether it's from the nosebleed or something else.

"What _did_ you do? I've never seen it this bad before," Liam interrupts, watching Stiles' face worriedly.

"I did what I always did. Just more," Stiles evades, rubbing his right arm. Derek remembers that it's the arm he pushed the woman down with.

"You moved too fast," Derek realizes, staring at Stiles. "How did you move so fast?"

The room goes silent and then Lydia's eyes close and she sighs, opening them again to stare at her friend.

"You didn't," she says softly to Stiles. It's not a question.

Stiles smiles tiredly at her and Derek glances around the room, confused, looking for answers in the others' faces.

"What?" He finally asks, dreading the answer.

"It's possible to augment the body with magic," Allison finally says after the room is silent again.

"But it isn't the same as using wards or spells," Lydia says tightly. "When a user performs magic on their own body it puts strain on it. While you can avoid some degeneration or damage, there are always after-effects. It's like running a marathon in five minutes. It shouldn't be done."

"Yes, it **_shouldn't_** ," Stiles snaps and the static in the air rises again. Derek can tell he's more tired than angry. "Magic also _shouldn't_ be done, but I missed that train a long time ago."

The static in the air lingers and Derek shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. The magic- if that's what it is- dances against his skin. It itches with potential.

"Stiles," Peter warns softly.

Stiles exhales slowly, eyes closed, and the static recedes. A single drop of wine-red blood falls from Stiles' nose.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Peter ignores the apology, a hand resting on Stiles' neck. The Pack is quiet.

"I don't think they'll be bothering us again but just in case, everyone spends the night," Laura finally says. "You all know your rooms. Make some calls if you need to and then turn in. It's been a long day."

The pack moves slowly and Stiles stays on the couch, his face betraying exhaustion.

"You need a bed," Derek murmurs, still worried and confused.

He knows there's too much he doesn't know about magic but he's sure that Stiles is powerful. Powerful enough to fight off four werewolves. He isn't sure how he feels about that, isn't sure if he can justify the protectiveness he still feels. All he knows is that Stiles fought for the Pack and that makes him invaluable.

"Yeah," Stiles snorts, laughing tiredly.

"Come on. You can take mine," Derek offers, holding a hand out for Stiles to use as support.

Stiles stares at Derek's hand, the strange, mournful look returning to his face. Derek wonders if it has to do with the things he doesn't remember. He's starting to suspect it may be Stiles calling out in his dreams.

"All right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! I decided to upload so quickly because I felt like the chapters were a bit short. I really started this story as a one-shot but it blew up so much that I felt it would be pretty asshole-ish to put it in one page and expect people to scroll and sit. Anyways, I may end up posting two chapters at a time if I find that they're as short as this and the previous one. As always, comment and share!


	4. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Alpha attack the Pack watch over the comatose Erica and Boyd. Time passes and Derek gets to see more of Stiles' interactions with the two healing werewolves. The closeness leads to the resurfacing of old memories, though, and Derek has just about had enough of the mystery surrounding Stiles and himself.

It’s been a week since the Alpha attack and the Pack have been hovering around Stiles, always close, bringing him his favorite snacks and drinks. Stiles almost seems to not have noticed but Derek knows better, watching when Stiles gives Laura an extra-long hug or Liam a bite of his cookie.

Sunday comes and they’re having a barbecue, something Stiles apparently feels is his crowning achievement. He’d explained to Derek that it was his way of getting everyone together monthly after they went their separate ways.

This Sunday, the gathering is more important than ever.

“How?” Liam asks, brow furrowed.

Stiles laughs and shows him how to cut green beans for the potato salad everyone can’t stop talking about. Derek watches them, smiling.

Erica and Boyd haven’t woken up.

They’d been hurt beyond belief, tired and bruised and broken in ways that should have healed. When Stiles had seen them laid in the Hales’ upstairs room his pupils had dilated, the remaining color glowing threateningly. He’d stayed by them both for two full days and it had taken a second visit from Deaton to get him out of the room. After he’d left Stiles had spent a whole day in bed and Laura had scolded him for not taking time to rest himself after the attack.

“You know how to do it,” Stiles nudges Liam. “Here, Derek- cut these into quarters.”

Derek catches the potato Stiles tosses at him. It’s piping hot.

“Ow,” Derek says, hopping the potato between both hands.

“Oh, it’s not _that_ hot, Sourwolf.”

Liam snickers.

“Meat’s almost done!” Scott yells from the open back door.

A blur flashes by the door and suddenly Scott goes flying, Jackson’s arms wrapped around his chest. Stiles shakes his head.

“Don’t break my table!” Stiles roars into the backyard.

The Packs are boisterous in the early summer sun, cheers and playful growls floating in through the open door. Derek is beginning to appreciate Stiles’ understanding of werewolves. The bonding involved in the Sunday get-together is just what everyone needs after the Alpha encounter.

“Hey, pass me the mustard,” Stiles instructs Liam.

“Hey. Hurry up,” Malia calls, skidding into the kitchen. Her hair is disheveled, likely from wrestling.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your coyote pants on.”

Malia whacks Stiles on the back of his head and it’s a playful gesture but Derek feels a growl escape his throat unbidden.

Malia stares at him.

“I’m not made out of _paper_ , Derek,” Stiles says and he sounds aggravated as he takes the giant bowl of potato salad outside.

Derek stands, vaguely shocked, and Malia and Liam both watch him. Malia appears vaguely unimpressed with her cousin. Liam looks mildly amused.

“What,” Derek growls and they both skirt around him, sharing a knowing look.

He waits in the kitchen a minute after they’ve gone to angrily throw potato peels into a bucket.

 

* * *

 

“Throw the damn ball!” Jackson yells and Scott groans from across the yard.

The Pack had thrown themselves into baseball after lunch and some of them are still understandably overstuffed with food. Derek didn’t hold back and he’s pretty sure Stiles’ pleased grin is only a small part of the reason why.

“God, you can’t let me near that potato salad,” Laura huffs as she takes up her position.

Stiles laughs and winks at Jackson, winding up to pitch. Derek isn’t sure when he started liking baseball so much but he has the sneaking suspicion it began when he saw Stiles stretching his arms in preparation. They are very nice arms, he thinks. Especially in a tight t-shirt.

The ball flies out of Stiles’ hand and Jackson bats it away, barely catching it in time.

“No magic!” he yells and Stiles snorts.

“Yeah, just as soon as I start playing against humans!”

The game turns out to be more interesting than Derek expects. Stiles augments his abilities just so, using the added buffer to make him even better. The others seem to only passingly play carefully around him, for the most part ignoring the fact that he’s human. Derek thinks it has something to do with the way Stiles hits the ball with a resounding _crack_.

“Go!” Scott yells as Jackson runs. The baseball flies towards Stiles, out behind second base.

Time slows as Derek watches, crouched on third base, ready to run. The ball flies and Stiles is laughing, head tilted to the sky. He skips backwards, body curved as he reaches to catch the ball.

A roar, cut off and choppy, echoes in the air as a dark blur slams into Stiles’ body.

“ _Stiles!_ ” Derek roars.

The others immediately run towards Stiles. Derek races to him, furthest away, nose flaring as he tries to scent the intruder. He doesn’t smell anything _wrong_ , though, and it’s confusing but he speeds up anyways, pushing until he can feel the stretch in his legs.

As they watch, a second figure approaches. It looks like a woman, Derek thinks, and something about her wild blonde hair makes him pause.

When the Pack approach they slow to a stop. Derek pushes forward, most of the others instinctively moving away. His heart pounds painfully as he prepares himself for the worst.

It’s Boyd.

Stiles is lying on the ground, arms wound tightly around the figure pressed to his chest. He’s laughing and crying and Erica kneels, nestling into Stiles’ side.

“You’re _not_ leaving my sight,” Stiles manages, laughing through his tears.

The others laugh, surrounding the trio.

“Let’s get you back inside,” Stiles says kindly and as he rises Erica and Boyd follow him, arms twined.

Stiles walks Erica and Boyd to the living room, settling in on the couch. Peter appears soon, blanket in hand. Stiles pulls the warm cloth close, smiling as the two curl into his sides.

They’re asleep before long and when Derek walks into the room again, he pauses, watching the light filtering through the windows and onto Stiles’ long lashes. He feels acutely in his chest the warmth and love emanating from them and he wants nothing more than to lay close, somewhere he can touch them and be near.

When the rest of the Pack filter in Derek is already asleep at Stiles’ feet.

 

* * *

 

Erica and Boyd remain close to Stiles for the next three days. They barely move from his side, following when he makes them hot chocolate before bed. The Pack set up an impromptu nest in the living room, blankets and pillows lumped in a comfortable pile where the three can sleep, usually joined by others.

On the third day Deaton arrives to check on Erica and Boyd.

“Everything seems to have healed well,” the man says, flashlight in hand. “But you already knew that.”

Stiles nods from where he stands between the two werewolves. Only recently have they begun to release him, staying close but not always physically clinging to him. They haven’t really spoken yet.

“There’s no risk of further injury at this point. At this point, the only healing you can do is by being here,” Deaton adds kindly, making his way to the door.

As Laura speaks to Deaton, Derek watches Stiles. He’s quiet, fingers linked with Erica and Boyd.

“You know you can talk to me,” Stiles says quietly.

Erica glances at Boyd and her expression isn’t just grateful- it’s also worried and scared. As if she doesn’t want what’s inside of her to touch Stiles. As if even in the pain she’s been through she still doesn’t want to hurt him.

“We know,” Boyd says quietly and even if it’s not a confession it’s something.

“Good,” Stiles says and then he smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Erica speaks, Stiles is getting ready to leave the house. He wants to make dinner and he's so used to going to the grocery store he doesn't ask for someone else to do it. 

"Headin' out!" Stiles calls as he walks towards the door.

He doesn't even get a hand on the doorknob before Erica makes a small noise from her spot on the living room couch.

Stiles is at her side in a minute, quiet and comforting.

"Hey. What is it?"

Erica shakes her head, blinking furiously, but the tears in her eyes still shine in the light.

"Come on, Catwoman. You can tell me."

Derek leans against a wall in the kitchen, hand frozen around a mug. He's making coffee with Jackson, who is just as tense and frozen as Derek.

"Can you stay?" Erica asks quietly and her voice is rough from disuse and the screams that torment her almost every night. Derek feels his heart beat painfully in his chest.

"Yeah. Yeah, **a chroí** , I'll stay," Stiles says, pulling her closer. 

Derek feels the strange words ripple, the magic feeling more like a tingle, a vibration in his bones. It feels warm and so very  _Stiles_ and even Derek finds himself drawn closer. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jackson move towards the living room, a faint smile playing across his lips. 

They end up ordering pizza, eating in the living room while playing a board game. No one complains.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you sound different when you speak?” Derek asks one night over dinner.

He feels more comfortable around Stiles. He’s sure of what he feels for him now but he knows better than to act, certain that it’s a bad time. Erica and Boyd have only begun to talk and Derek suspects there are private conversations no one but Stiles knows about.

“Ah. You know, metal is a conductor.”

“…okay,” Derek says, blinking. He’s not sure if the fact is supposed to mean something to him.

Stiles laughs, taking a bite of the lasagna he made for dinner.

“Magic users can make themselves stronger in a few ways. It helps to think of magic as electricity- metal helps conduct magic, transferring it from one thing to another. Wood is a conductor, so it traps magic and allows one to use it without being directly affected.”

“So you use metal…?”

As Derek trails off, Laura snorts.

“Jesus, Derek. I _know_ you’ve seen it.”

“Seen-,”

Derek’s words die in his mouth, though, because Stiles sticks his tongue out and the dark silver ball glints under the lights of the dinner table.

“Don’t be rude,” Lydia smacks Stiles on his arm and he laughs, tucking his tongue back into his mouth.

“So it’s for magic,” Derek murmurs, still vaguely entranced by the gleam of metal.

“Partially. I also just like it.”

“Yeah you do,” Cora mutters and Stiles shoots her a look.

Derek is pretty sure there’s some kind of unspoken communication going on. He doesn’t ask.

 

* * *

 

 

Erica and Boyd aren't really recovered. They won't ever be the same, Derek thinks, but with Stiles' help they've come damn near close. The Pack are comfortable around them now, accepting and touching and reassuring. They no longer cling to Stiles, taking strength from the entire Pack. Derek has a feeling Stiles is still their favorite, though.

Although if he's being honest, Stiles is  _everyone's_ favorite. 

A week before most of the Pack leave, Stiles decides Sunday night will end with small fireworks. Boyd buys them, sparklers and snapdragons and UFO-shaped oddities that Stiles had specifically requested 'because they're  _awesome,_ Derek,  _that's_ why'.

The delighted laughter in the backyard makes Derek smile and the smell of Stiles' apple crumble wafts from the back door in tantalizing curls. Derek is content with watching and then Stiles looks up at him from where he's crouching with a sparkler, the red light glowing across his cheekbones.

"Look, Derek, it's a wand!" Stiles laughs manically, waving the sparkler like a wand as he pretends to duel an earnest Scott.

The words ring in Derek's ears and he blinks, vision blurring as if he has water in his eyes.  _Look, Derek, it's a wand!_ He thinks his mouth is opening but he doesn't know what he's going to say, isn't even sure if he's still standing. His body feels strangely heavy and he tries to find Laura in the night, confused and off-balance.

"..k. ...rek. Derek!"

Cora's voice comes to him in pieces, his name slowly developing from the muffled sounds rolling off her tongue.

"What?" Derek asks, confused, and then Laura is by his side. 

"What happened?" Laura demands and Derek shakes his head, half ignoring them. 

He looks and he finds Stiles, watching him, fear and worry and hope developing in his gold eyes.

"What did you do?" he asks raggedly, heart beating a mile a minute.

Stiles shakes his head, lost, looking to Laura with an expression that says he wantsto do  _something._

"I know you," Derek whispers and even as he says it he knows it's true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I know I said I'd update on Fridays but I uploaded two at once so I let myself have a break. Anyways, I bizarrely lost the first draft of this chapter but after a second try here it is. Things will get less confusing (hopefully) soon for poor Derek and we'll get into the real relationship between Stiles, Derek, and Peter. Stay tuned and I'd love to hear your comments!


	5. Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek confronts Stiles about the fleeting memories he can't seem to get back. The story, it turns out, is oddly complicated. It's also unbelievable, but when Laura reveals things even Stiles didn't know it becomes clear that something is wrong and Derek wants it fixed. The result brings back some interesting memories...

"Why do I know you?" Derek repeats.

"Let's go inside," Stiles murmurs, glancing at Laura again. As if he's waiting for permission.

"Come on," she finally says after a few minutes of silence and the Pack follow closely.

Stiles looks as if he wants to say something, warn the others away, but he doesn't. For once, he seems to be powerless. Derek doesn't like it.

When they get into the living room, Erica and Boyd sit at Stiles' feet. He looks at Laura, again with something pleading in his eyes, but she seems to ignore him.

"Explain," Derek says, firm but gentle. He wants answers but he's willing to do this on Stiles' terms.

"It would be easier to show you," Stiles begins but Laura interrupts.

"No. We don't know what your m- what Claudia did. If it's too strong we might hurt him."

"Claudia?" Scott asks quietly and Stiles crosses his arms tight against his chest. It's a protective move, introverted and careful.

_Where do I know that name from?_ Derek wonders.

"Your mother," Jackson says flatly and even though he sounds collected Derek can see from his tensed arms that he wants to get closer to Stiles.

Jackson, Derek thinks, is the one that seems the least attached to Stiles. In reality, though, Derek thinks he probably _talks_ to Stiles the most. In private, maybe, when Stiles is miraculously free and able to talk. They may be different, but in the end Jackson is Pack and Stiles is Pack- and Pack look after each other. His reaction reveals more about their relationship than Derek knew.

"When I was a kid I used to go to the woods with my mother," Stiles begins, twining his shirt around his fingers. "She would take me and teach me about plants and things. I loved going into the woods; it was _alive_ and bright and I could run around as much as I wanted. It was great."

"Did she know the Hales?" Lydia interrupts, astute as usual.

"No," Laura answers automatically. She glances at Stiles. "No, _we_ knew about _her_ \- but she was always further away from our property. We didn't see a reason to talk to her."

"I didn't know- _no one_ knew what she could do," Stiles starts again, quiet. "I got my magic from somewhere, you know. It wasn't the same in her and it isn't like being a werewolf- it's not something you know when you're born. It's different. I never knew her magic until I was seven. She died when I was eight."

"How did you find out?" Malia asks quietly.

Stiles looks at Derek and sighs, rubbing his face. He settles back into the couch.

"When I was a kid, my mom would get sick for a few days at a time. She'd sleep a lot but I would still want to go into the woods. I'd take my bike, ride out and come back hours later. When I went into the woods one day, I met you.

"You were angry. In a bad mood. Sourwolf," Stiles snorts, laughing.

"Even then he was a mopey brat," Peter says drily. There's support in his glib remark and he nudges Stiles' shoulder, a move that involves a friendly touch. It's comforting.

"We talked a lot after that. It was fun, running around in the woods. We met up for years- since I was at least six, maybe younger. And then when I was seven something happened. Something bad.

"I went out to meet you. It was later in the day, maybe five, and it started to get dark really fast. When I was about to leave, a stray Omega attacked us. I didn't know what was happening but I tried to protect you and that's when my magic flared. It knocked the Omega out but it knocked you out, too. I was scared, I thought I hurt you- and then my mom showed up and I passed out."

Derek exhales, realizing he's been holding his breath in. _So this is it. This is what they weren't telling me_.

"So your magic got rid of my memory?" Derek asks.

"No," Laura starts, looking to Stiles. He looks down at his hands, shoulders slumped.

"After I passed out, my mother talked with your family. I don't know what happened but after that she never let me leave the house. She got worse, sick- she died barely a year later," he explains, looking back to Laura. "What Laura knows she's never told me."

The room is silent and Peter crosses his arms, leaning against a wall.

"So? What really happened?" Peter asks and he sounds vaguely dangerous. Derek wonders when he became so loyal to Stiles, even over his own family. Derek would think it was unnatural, this misplaced loyalty, but after the fire Peter was never really the same as the rest of his surviving family.

Laura shoots Peter a warning look and he barely backs down, tilting his chin the smallest amount possible. It doesn't go unnoticed by the werewolves.

"Claudia knew about us," Laura finally says and Stiles inhales sharply. "She explained what had happened and then she told us that Derek would be fine- but what Stiles had done had opened a tiny connection between them. It wouldn't last, but if Stiles woke up and used his magic again it might have hurt Derek. She told us that Stiles was in danger, too- that he had too much power and he needed to stay hidden. She asked us if we would agree to lose our memories of the events."

"That's too much," Stiles gasps and he shakes his head. "She shouldn't have- that's too much, it's too dangerous-,"

"It was fine," Laura assures him. "For most of us, we would only have the memory of that meeting. For Derek...it was more. She told us she would make it flawless, that there would be no problems- but we had to keep you separate. We agreed because she told us we could always break the spell if we met you again. So she did it and then she took you back, took you away."

"That's what she meant," Stiles says suddenly and his voice breaks.

On the floor, Erica makes a small noise, hugging Stiles' leg close as she tries to comfort him. Derek can _feel_ the pain and sorrow emanating from Stiles.

"What do you mean?" Derek asks and he's still floored by the fact that his memories were erased, that his family _allowed_ all of their memories to be erased.

"When she died she was hallucinating. It was frontotemporal dementia- she would scream at me; say I was trying to kill her. I didn’t remember anything that had happened, but when she died, she told me something strange. She said she was sorry and she told me she had tried to help. She said, ‘I gave it to you. I gave it all to you’.”

“She gave you her magic,” Kira realizes and Derek can see tears in her eyes. “Why?”

“When you create a spell, you have to ground it with some source of power. If it’s small, it can be temporary- plants, objects, things like that. When you cast a powerful spell, it can drain your energy. Your life. If she did something to my memory or my power, it would have drained her own ability until she was left with nothing,” Stiles realizes. He shakes his head and Derek can see how affected he is, how much it’s hurting him to find out things he never knew about his own mother.

“Why did everyone else remember but me?” Derek asks, realizing something doesn’t make sense to him. “You said it was supposed to break after we met you again.”

“Only if the alteration was small. You had more memories that were repressed. Your spell needs to _be_ broken,” Laura explains. “Even Stiles only knew because he studied magic- he broke down his own barriers.”

“Fix it,” Derek says immediately and he doesn’t mean to sound angry but he thinks he does.

The room is quiet.

One thing Derek has always hated about being part of a Pack is the fact that everyone can hear each other’s business. Even if the Pack weren’t in the living room, they’d have been listening in anyways. They can even sense- to an extent- what each other are feeling. He’s sure his own emotions seem like a hurricane right now.

“Do you blame me?” Stiles asks quietly. Not scared, just…questioning.

“No,” Derek says, but he still sounds angry and he doesn’t know why. “I just- I don’t understand why- _why_ our memories were altered, _why_ my parents agreed- I don’t understand why this had to happen.”

“Neither do I,” Stiles argues. “I don’t. But _something_ about the attack must have been worse than my mother let on, worse than I ‘remember’. I haven’t found out what it was she did when she gave me her magic. For all I know, my memories are false- or altered.”

“You _have_ them,” Derek says immediately. “I- I was _robbed_.”

Derek can see Jackson twitch with anticipation, as if he’s about to punch Derek in the face. He almost wants it to happen, just so he can release this strange energy bubbling in his chest.

“ _You_ were robbed?” Cora begins quietly. Derek didn’t expect her to speak, but she does. “Derek, Stiles _saved_ you. You were a _kid_ and an Omega attacked you. You were far from home, far from help- he didn’t even know what he could do and he tried to help. A human child, faced with a werewolf. Losing that friendship was the _least_ you could have lost.”

“She’s right,” Peter says quietly. “Did you realize how young he was? How human? He lost his mother, Derek.”

“Okay, this is not the pity-me party,” Stiles interrupts, laughing, but something in the way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes gives Derek pause. “Right now, Derek wants me to remove the spell- and I _can_.”

“I still don’t like the idea,” Laura says but she doesn’t sound as firm as she did before.

“It’s his choice,” Stiles says finally, turning to Derek.

“Do it,” Derek says quietly and Stiles smiles but there are tears in his eyes.

When he lifts his hands, Derek closes his eyes and then his world goes dark.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

“Who are you?” Stiles asks.

He is a child in motion, a busy, hyperactive mind fueling his forays in the woods. When the boy emerges from the trees, though, he stops in his tracks.

He’s an older kid. Maybe eleven, maybe younger. He’s bigger than Stiles, with dark hair that’s almost black. His eyes are a weird color that Stiles doesn’t know the name for but it makes him think of the forest.

“Who are _you_?” the older kid asks, guarded, and Stiles takes a stuttering half-step back as the older kid circles.

Stiles catches himself and plants his feet, small fists clenching.

“I’m Stiles.”

“That’s a weird name.”

Stiles frowns and he can see the older kid look away for a minute as if he doesn’t want to see the frown. He looks back at Stiles then.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?”

It’s not a challenge and he’s not teasing. It sounds like the kid _genuinely_ doesn’t want Stiles to cry. It’s weird.

“You’re weird,” Stiles notes, tilting his head. The older kid blushes brightly. Stiles grins. “I like you.”

“…so what are you doing here? Where are your parents?”

Stiles spends the next half hour regaling Derek – which is a nice name, Stiles says- with tales about journeys into the woods with his mother and his father’s work as a sheriff. Derek is patient, listening and commenting. Stiles is active, running around and climbing over the tree stump he and his mother usually sit on.

And Derek watches, listening and talking.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles enters the clearing two days later, careful. He wonders if Derek is there already.

When he isn’t, Stiles kicks a pile of leaves, disappointed.

He sets his sights on a tree and begins to climb. Stiles likes climbing trees, likes how he can set his mind to it and focus on the task enough to block everything else out. Sometimes he feels like his head is full of bees. He reaches for a branch and it snaps in his hand.

“ _Stiles!_ ” Derek yells from the ground and Stiles slips from the branch he’s standing on.

He lets out a small _oomph_ when he lands in Derek’s arms. The older boy is oddly warm. Like Stiles’ dad, which is weird, because Derek is much smaller.

“What were you _thinking_?” Derek demands, rushing Stiles over to the tree stump. He seems worried.

“I was climbing the tree,” Stiles points out slowly, as if he thinks Derek is dumb. He’s not sure what the older boy is asking.

“I _saw_ that. You shouldn’t do things like that when no one’s around. You might get hurt.”

Stiles watches Derek examine his hands. He thinks for a minute that Derek is acting kind of like his parents when they found out Stiles was climbing onto the roof of the house.

“I’m fine. You caught me,” Stiles points out.

“What if I wasn’t here?” Derek asks and he looks relieved but still kind of angry.

“You will be. Right?” Stiles adds, suddenly unsure. In his mind, he doesn’t consider school or moving or even where Derek is from.

All Stiles knows at that moment is that Derek is his friend and he _likes_ Derek. He _wants_ to have fun, play in the forest, talk. In his mind, the only thing that would make Derek leave is if he doesn’t want to be around Stiles.

“Yeah,” Derek sighs and even though he seems exasperated he’s also hiding his smile, ducking his head. “I guess.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You have a sister?” Stiles asks. He is dubious, mostly because he knows sisters _exist_ but he’s never known anyone who had one.

“Two. Older and younger,” Derek says, watching Stiles swing from a tree branch. He’s eating some sort of sandwich.

“That’s weird,” Stiles laughs, swinging his legs harder. “Girls are weird.”

“They are,” Derek chuckles, walking closer to Stiles.

Derek holds the sandwich up and Stiles dips his head, taking a bite.

“Mustard?” he says, muffled through a mouth full of food.

“Yeah,” Derek says, the tone of his voice questioning. _What about it?_

Stiles is learning that Derek is like one of those books where you fill in blanks. There are things in between his words that he doesn’t say. Stiles thinks it’s fun, filling in the blanks.

“I guess I thought you’d like hot sauce,” Stiles says, mouth clear.

“Hot sauce?” Derek looks like he thinks Stiles is insane.

Stiles laughs and drops down from the branch, landing on all fours. He growls, lunging for Derek’s sandwich, and the older boy twists his body, chuckling. Stiles growls again playfully, chasing the older boy around the clearing.

In the end, Derek gives Stiles the rest of the sandwich anyways.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sorry. It was my birthday,” Derek explains from the ground.

Stiles is pouting in a tree. Derek hadn’t been in the clearing last week and Stiles had been worried.

“It was your _birthday_?” Stiles says incredulously and he drops down, landing easily.

Derek steps closer but he stops when he sees Stiles’ contorted face.

“What-,” Derek starts but Stiles interrupts him, hands balled into fists.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me? I’m your _friend_ ,” Stiles says, angry tears rising in his eyes.

He doesn’t want to cry in front of Derek. Derek is older, and he’s cool and nice and Stiles doesn’t want to act like a baby. He’s hurt, though, so he kicks a pile of leaves in Derek’s general direction and starts to walk away.

“Wait,” Derek sighs and when Stiles keeps walking away Derek starts to jog to catch up. “Stiles, _wait._ ”

“Jerk,” Stiles mutters, rubbing his eyes angrily.

Suddenly Stiles’ feet leave the ground and he feels arms wrapped around his chest. It takes him a moment to register what’s happened and then he squirms, trying to get out of Derek’s grip.

“Let _go_ ,” Stiles complains, still sniffing as he blinks tears out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says and his voice is muffled by Stiles’ messy hair and oversized hoodie.

Stiles stops squirming, sniffing. His hands still rest over Derek’s warm ones.

“You’re still a jerk,” Stiles mutters.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Stiles can hear the smile in Derek’s voice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I want to run away!”

Stiles skips across the creek, watching water gurgle across the stones.

“Why?” Derek asks immediately, watching Stiles closely.

“Do you know there’s places where you can go see dinosaur bones in the ground? They’re still there! Or what about the space center? They let you do the training astronauts do before going into space. Or-,”

“Why don’t you just ask your parents to take you?” Derek asks.

“They can’t,” Stiles says and some of the cheer is gone from his voice.

Derek starts to wonder. He knows sometimes kids without parents will live with a foster family. Sometimes they even talk about their parents as if they’re still alive. He wonders if Stiles has a family.

“Why not?”

“Dad’s always working. Mom gets sick a lot. I don’t wanna bother them.”

Derek watches Stiles. He thinks about his family, brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles. He thinks of how big his family is and he realizes how lucky he is. It makes him sad, thinking Stiles tries not to bother his own parents.

“All right,” Derek says, suddenly deciding. “But you have to take me with you, okay?”

Stiles beams, turning around on the rock he’s standing on.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll bring you a suitcase tomorrow. We can leave Friday.”

Derek thinks he’ll ask Laura to take them, if Stiles doesn’t change his mind. She likes travelling.

Stiles laughs and hugs Derek, letting go when the older boy grumbles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek asks his father for a suitcase. He says he’ll give it back, says it’s for fun. His father raises an eyebrow but gives it to Derek anyways, murmuring ‘fun’ to himself afterwards.

Stiles likes the suitcase.

“Whoa, this is _cool_ ,” Stiles exclaims, running a hand over the old leather.

“Remember, take me with you,” Derek says.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On Thursday, Stiles decides they need to plan. He brings a notebook, small and worn, and starts making lists.

“Where should we go first?”

“Dinosaurs,” Derek says. It’s the closest place.

“Dinosaurs,” Stiles repeats, writing the word down. “Did you know….,”

The day continues with Stiles planning, Derek offering advice. Truthfully, Derek is impressed. Stiles doesn’t do things halfway. He thinks Laura can convince Stiles, though, because she’s good at that kind of thing. She’s smart, especially when it comes to people.

It starts getting dark early. It’s barely seven when the sky starts getting darker, the forest looking denser than usual.

“You should get home. We’ll probably need to wake up early,” Derek reminds Stiles.

“Okay,” Stiles says and he even sounds tired, worn out from planning.

When Stiles starts to move away from Derek there’s a cracking sound from the woods.

Derek moves quickly, instinctively putting himself between Stiles and the sound.

“What was that?” Stiles asks.

He doesn’t sound scared but he sounds wary and suddenly Derek wishes he’d told someone where he was. He likes having Stiles to himself, though, likes the idea that their friendship is _his_ , not like everything else in the Pack. He’s starting to regret meeting in the woods.

“What do we have here? Two cubs?”

A man emerges from the trees, smiling.

“Stiles, go home,” Derek says quietly. He can smell the man, knows he’s an Omega. Dangerous.

“No,” Stiles begins but the man cuts them off.

“Cute. But neither of you are leaving.”

Derek feels a moment of sorrow, knowing that he’ll probably never see Stiles again. If they survive, Stiles will be scared and he’ll probably hate Derek for life. If Stiles dies, Derek will never forgive himself. Stiles is _human_. He’s meant to be _protected_.

Derek doesn’t realize he’s treating Stiles like Pack and he never gets the chance.

The Omega attacks and Derek lets his inner wolf take over, knowing he can’t defeat the large man but hoping he can delay him.

The Omega swipes a hand and Derek finds himself thrown to the side, landing with his back to a tree. He’s winded and he tries to rise but he can’t and suddenly Stiles runs over, face worried.

“Are you okay? Derek,” Stiles pleads, trying to help the older boy up.

Derek feels distant shock. Stiles hasn’t left.

The Omega approaches and Stiles turns to face the man. Derek growls angrily behind Stiles.

“Don’t _touch_ him,” Derek growls and then Stiles raises his arms protectively, a small human wall.

“Leave him alone!” Stiles yells. His feet are planted firmly on the ground.

For a moment Derek remembers meeting Stiles, remembers the moment of pause before Stiles had stood his ground. He wishes, for once, that Stiles would just _run_.

The Omega attacks and Derek hears his own scream mirrored by Stiles’.

There’s a sudden flash of gold and Derek feels something like static, buzzing and low, before he passes out.

The Omega flies back and Stiles drops to his knees, dizzy and shocked. There’s another noise and Stiles turns his eyes, scared.

“Mom?”

Stiles’ last thought is that everything will be fine. He wonders if Derek will still want to go with him on Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Sorry it's been so long, finals week is fast approaching. Thankfully I had some time to finish up this chapter. From here, I may just close this fic off and focus on my others. I have no idea why I keep writing more when they don't really get attention! Maybe I'll just start an AU dump comprised of one-shot stories. What do you think?


	6. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Derek knows, he has a choice. He can walk away from Stiles...or he can try and get back the friendship he never knew he had. And perhaps something more.

“I was wondering why your suitcase looked like mine,” Derek says from the staircase.

Stiles pauses as he walks out of the kitchen, mug in hand. He looks up at Derek, solemn, and offers the mug. He smiles when Derek takes it.

“I kept it. I think my mother hid it for a while after the attack. I found it later, thought it was my dad’s.”

Derek nods and takes a sip. It’s coffee with hazelnut and caramel. The flavor is so specific he _knows_ it was made for him. He looks at Stiles- _you knew?_ _I did_.

Their silent communication should be wrong, but Derek feels it fit into place like a missing piece of his life. It’s as if they were never separated, he thinks.

“You were…energetic when you were a kid,” Derek tries, hoping to feel out the new territory they’ve found themselves in.

“I was,” Stiles laughs. “I was worse around you, though. At school I was the kid with an attention disorder. I didn’t get much slack.”

It makes Derek a little sad to know that. He can’t help feeling sort of happy, though, thinking that they were only really themselves around each other.

“So what now?” Derek asks quietly.

“Now it’s your choice,” Stiles says kindly, leading the way back into the kitchen.

When Stiles opens the oven, he pulls a tray of biscuits covered in pizza toppings out. They smell delicious. Derek can hear the rest of the family making their way downstairs.

_My choice_.

 

* * *

 

At night, Derek returns home from grocery shopping to find Stiles and Peter fighting in the front yard.

He almost drops his bags.

Stiles is almost transformed, raw fury and energy spilling out from his body in a wave that hits Derek like a physical force. Stiles is wearing a tank top, the wide sleeves showing the edges of his black tattoos, swirling energy pulsing and making them appear to move.

Peter’s eyes are glowing, claws out as he growls loudly and dangerously.

Derek takes a step forward, ready to step in, and then Laura calls his name.

“Derek! Hurry up with the groceries!”

She sounds so normal, so casual, that it gives Derek pause. He’s torn between leaving the two and staying and then Cora emerges from the woods behind him, sweaty in her running gear, and glances at the fight.

“They’re still not done? They take training too seriously.”

_Training?_ Derek wonders, dazed. The way Peter and Stiles are going at it, Derek isn’t sure they’ll emerge unscathed.

He steps inside the house anyways, antsy, one ear trained on the fight.

“Oh, calm down,” Laura interjects. “They do this all the time. I’m actually surprised you haven’t seen them go at it yet.”

“All the time?” Derek echoes.

“Yeah. I’m not sure Peter didn’t attack Stiles when they first met,” Cora snorts, stealing an apple from one of the bags. “Anyways, they’ll be hungry later.”

Derek nods, still curious. Cora doesn’t move, staring at Derek as she bites into the apple.

“I said, _they’ll be hungry_ ,” Cora repeats slowly, gazing steadily at her brother.

“Yeah…I heard you,” Derek says, confused.

“Jesus, Cora, you need to spell it out for him,” Laura sighs, tossing bread into the pantry.

“I think it would be a good time for you to _talk_ to Stiles. You know. If you wanna go eat something. And talk. With Stiles,” Cora emphasizes, eyes wide as if she’s talking to a child.

Derek doesn’t blush when he finally understands what his sisters mean.

 

* * *

 

“Oh. Go eat?” Stiles repeats, blinking rapidly.

His shirt is torn and Derek can already see bruises forming on Stiles’ side.

“Yeah. Um- if you want.”

“Yeah, sure- totally,” Stiles manages, waving a hand as he continues to blink, chest rising noticeably as he tries to catch his breath.

“Cool,” Derek nods stupidly, trying not to look too long at Stiles’ collarbone. Or his flushed cheeks. Or the way he licks his lips.

“I’m too old for this,” Laura mutters as she passes behind her brother, rubbing her nose.

 

* * *

 

They end up at an Italian place, Stiles happily sipping a cream soda as Derek tries not to lean in and get a whiff of his body wash. He thinks it’s pine and for some reason the idea clouds his head.

“So I guess you don’t want to avoid me for the rest of our lives. Or…are you just taking me out to make up for what you’re going to do?”

Derek smiles fleetingly, stirring his drink.

“No, I _do_ want to see you,” he says and then he thinks he should choose his words more carefully because Stiles wiggles his eyebrows and Derek does _not_ blush.

“I know it’s shitty, what happened. I’m sorry that my mom tried to hide everything. We can’t help what happened, though, and I’m glad it’s over.”

“Yeah. I know she was trying to protect you,” Derek admits, gazing down at the table. “It was unfair to be angry. I know my parents would have done the same.”

Stiles’ face changes, Derek thinks, and his expression is suddenly thankful and awed.

“Thank you for understanding. For not being stubborn. You used to be really stubborn, you know,” Stiles adds, smirking as he watches Derek’s face.

“…yeah. I guess,” Derek says, smiling back.

While they wait for their dessert later, something comes to Derek’s mind.

“I’ve been meaning to ask- how did you meet Peter?”

Stiles pauses in the middle of folding his napkin. He’s already turned Derek’s into a lotus flower.

“It’s a long story,” he says slowly, glancing up at Derek. “Not that nice, either.”

“Did he hurt you?” Derek tries. It doesn’t seem right but he wants to know, wants to make sure… _what_? He’s suddenly struck by the thought. _Why is this important to me?_

“That’s not what it was,” Stiles smiles, although his eyes are sharp. “But yes, he did. He’s one of the few people that could.”

“So what happened?”

Stiles finally looks straight at Derek, tilting his head as if he’s examining the man.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“I already know a lot about you,” Derek starts and then he stops. “No- I mean I _did._ I want to. Again.”

“I’m not the same kid you knew,” Stiles reminds Derek and he sounds sad.

“No. You’re not a kid anymore,” Derek offers mildly but he keeps eye contact, trying to communicate everything he can’t say to Stiles.

_I want to know. I want to know about you._

Stiles’ mouth is slightly open, as if he wants to say something, but it turns into a smile and he nods, crossing his arms on the table.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short! I know it probably feels unsatisfying...but the thing is, I wanted to end on a note that sets up the possibility of a prequel/sequel! It's already 1/2 written on my laptop; I know some friends mentioned wanting to see more of Peter/Stiles and I really do love their interactions. I feel like visiting their first meeting and resulting friendship will set things up and from there, it will be nice to have a third story that wanders into Derek/Stiles relationship territory. I may have to adjust the tags on this story, but I hope it's implied that Derek definitely wants to see more of Stiles.


End file.
